Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Richard
Natalie was in trouble.
When Carson's call came through, I was chairing a top-level meeting about the Group's five-year Asia-Pacific strategy. Several core executives were waiting for my final decision.
"Sir, Mrs. Winston was attacked on her way to the recording studio! Her arm is injured, she's severely traumatized, she's unconscious—they're rushing her to Ethelred Hospital!"
Carson's words detonated in my brain like a bomb.
I shot to my feet. The chair legs scraped across the floor with an ear-splitting screech. The conference room went dead silent. Everyone stared at my face—drained of blood, dark as hell itself.
"Meeting adjourned." My voice didn't sound like my own. There was a tremor I'd never heard before. I grabbed my suit jacket and bolted from the conference room, leaving a roomful of stunned executives in my wake.
"Get the car to Ethelred Hospital!" I barked at David, my stride never breaking toward the private elevator.
My fingers twitched uncontrollably. I clenched my fist hard, nails digging into my palm, trying to use pain to crush the panic threatening to devour my sanity.
Images I couldn't control flooded my mind—Natalie's pale face, blood-soaked dress, ice-cold fingers. .. No! Damn it! Don't think!
The drive to the hospital—every second stretched into eternity.
I kept calling Carson, demanding updates.
Natalie had regained consciousness. Initial exam showed she and the baby weren't in immediate danger.
Her arm was superficial. But severe shock had triggered frequent contractions—signs of preterm labor.
She needed immediate hospitalization for fetal preservation.
The attacker had been subdued and taken to the station.
"That bastard," I ground out through clenched teeth, then told David, "Before I get to the hospital, I want to know who sent him. If he won't talk, use everything we've got."
The VIP floor at Ethelred Hospital had been completely locked down.
When I burst into the room, Natalie was half-sitting against the headboard, pale as paper, her lips bloodless.
Her left forearm was wrapped in bandages.
Her right hand unconsciously covered her swollen belly. Her body still trembled.
Carson and another guard stood at the door like stone sentinels, faces grim.
"Natalie." I moved to the bed, my voice involuntarily soft, afraid of startling her.
Natalie slowly turned her head. When she saw me, her eyes held nothing but raw terror and vulnerability. She opened her mouth to speak but only managed a broken sob. Tears streamed down silently.
My heart felt like an invisible hand had grabbed it, twisted it, and squeezed until I couldn't breathe.
I sat on the bed and carefully pulled Natalie into my arms, blanket and all.
I felt her body rigid, trembling. "Shh..
. It's over. I'm here. It's over." I rubbed her back, my jaw pressed tight against the top of her head.
"He... he grabbed me... knife... the baby..." She sobbed incoherently against my chest.
"The baby's fine. The doctor said so. You're both strong." I kissed her forehead, my voice raw. "I promise—no one will ever hurt you again. I swear it."
Over the next few days, I canceled everything.
I didn't leave the room. Natalie's body stabilized with medication and rest, but her nerves stayed shot.
Any sudden sound—even a nurse opening the door—made her jump.
The baby's movements became unusually frequent and violent.
The doctor said maternal anxiety was directly affecting the fetus.
I watched Natalie's brow furrow even in sleep. I saw the worry in her eyes when she touched her belly. The urge to destroy everything burned in my chest day and night. But I had to stay calm. For her. For the baby.
After dinner, I handed Natalie my tablet. It showed my private island in the South Pacific—isolated, absolute security, independent medical team.
"Like it?" I pointed to the crystal blue water on the screen. "When you're better, maybe we could stay there awhile." Neither of us could survive another attack. Better than staying in L.A.—at least it was safe.
She looked at the images. Her eyes glazed for a moment. Her fingers traced the fine sand on the screen. Then she shook her head and handed the tablet back. Her voice was soft but clear. "I can't hide forever, Richard. Especially not now."
She was right. Hiding solved nothing. It only lengthened the shadow. I had to rip out the shadow by its roots, expose it to the sun, burn it to ash.
The investigation confirmed what I'd expected, but made my rage burn hotter. Every thread—the crude but vicious photoshopped images online, the hired thug who attacked her—all pointed to one person. Olivia.
She'd used fringe contacts and channels from her time at Winston Group to hire hackers and trolls for the online assault, then tapped underground connections for a street criminal. The intent was clear. Destroy Natalie's reputation. Or failing that, kill her and my child.
"Where's Olivia now?"
"Last confirmed location was Southeast Asia. Some remnants of her family's connections are helping her hide."
I smiled coldly. "Then take out everyone helping her hide.
Notify all our partners, financial institutions, law firms—from this moment, anyone doing business with the Carter family or their affiliates is an enemy of Winston Group.
I want them bankrupt within seventy-two hours.
As for Olivia—file international charges for commercial fraud, invasion of privacy, conspiracy to commit assault, attempted kidnapping.
Get Interpol involved. Extradition requests to every country she might hide in.
Post a ten-million-dollar bounty for her exact location. "
I didn't just want her in prison. I wanted her to watch everything she had—family, wealth, reputation, future—crumble to dust before her eyes. I wanted her to know what despair felt like.
I thought the iron fist and full-scale siege would at least force her back into her hole long enough for Natalie to get through the late pregnancy safely. But I'd underestimated the hatred and execution of a woman gone completely mad.
That afternoon, Natalie seemed better. She said she wanted some air in the hospital's cleared garden downstairs, get some sun. I was supposed to go with her, but a critical overseas acquisition negotiation reached final terms. The other CEO gave me twenty minutes.
When Natalie found out, she smiled at me. "Go, Richard. I'll be downstairs. With all these guards, I'll be fine."
"Okay. I'll be right back." I kissed Natalie's forehead, ordered Carson and three other guards to stay glued to her, then fastened a new diamond bracelet on her wrist—it had a micro tracker and emergency alert built in. Only then did I go back to the makeshift office upstairs.
Fifteen minutes into the negotiation, my custom earpiece shrieked.
Then Carson's voice, almost unrecognizable.
"Sir! Mrs. Winston's been taken! A van disguised as hospital maintenance—they sprayed anesthetic gas!
Two of our men are down! They took her out through the B2 garage exit! We're tracking the vehicle!"
I shot up, knocking over the water glass.
It shattered, liquid spraying everywhere.
"Deploy everyone! Activate all tracking signals!
Block every road out of the city! Get me the police chief and Homeland Security direct line!
Now!" My fingers flew across the tablet, pulling up the tracker signal hidden in Natalie's bracelet.
A faint red dot moved fast across the city map, heading toward the desolate northeast industrial district.
I drove there at top speed. The trail ended at a sprawling abandoned factory complex. The tracking signal stopped at a rust-covered warehouse. Police sirens wailed in the distance, but I couldn't wait. I led the private security team that had arrived first and smashed through a side door.
Inside, vast, dark, reeking of rust and dust.
"Damn it! Fight back and I'll kill you!"
The man's crude cursing stopped my heart. I followed the sound, rounding a pile of abandoned machinery, and saw a scene that made my blood run backward.
Natalie lay on the ground, hands bound behind her back, clothes disheveled, fresh bruises on her face, blood at the corner of her mouth. A man in filthy overalls had one hand over her mouth. The other hand raised high. In it—a knife. Stabbing down toward Natalie's struggling body!
"NO!!!"
The roar tore from my throat as my body moved before my mind could catch up. I threw myself forward with everything I had. In the final instant before that blade fell, I shoved my left arm between the knife and Natalie!
The blade tore through skin and muscle. Searing pain exploded from my left forearm, flooding half my body. Warm liquid sprayed out, thick with the smell of blood.
But clearer than the pain was relief—thank God, thank God Natalie was safe.
The attacker clearly hadn't expected someone to charge out and block a knife with his arm.
He froze. That split second of hesitation was all I needed.
The pain and rage ignited all my violence.
Ignoring the agony threatening to swallow me, I balled my right fist and slammed it with every ounce of strength into his temple.
He grunted. The knife clattered to the ground. He slumped sideways.
"Richard!!" Natalie's cry was soul-shattering.
My security team and the police finally rushed in, quickly subduing two more accomplices in the warehouse and securing the scene.